Hot Shower
by Susanne Barringer
Summary: Mulder and Scully get decontaminated, among other things.


TITLE: Hot Shower  
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer  
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.  
CATEGORY: SR  
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance  
RATING: R for lascivious thoughts   
SPOILERS: Inspired by the rumored scene in the upcoming "One Son," although it's a pretty sure bet it won't play out this way in the episode! :)  
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully get decontaminated, among other things.  
DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. No money being made, etc.   


THANK YOU to Suzanne Schramm for beta-reading and for my daily recommended dosage of confidence boosting. :) 

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Hot Shower by Susanne Barringer 

My skin is burning with the chemicals. I can feel them seeping through my clothing, into my pores, scalding my cells and destroying me layer by layer. Mulder and I have been doused with something that's eating away at us, and it's not wasting any time about it either. What will save us is the decontamination unit temporarily set up on the scene and on full alert for just this possibility. 

We are hustled to the shower area where two technicians wait with hoses. I'm already half stripped down by the time we get there. The longer my soaked clothes stay near my skin, the more serious the burns will be, and the searing of the chemicals is already almost more than I can stand. The pain radiates through me in a way that makes me clench my teeth with the force of it. The last thing I see before I turn around to face the technician is Mulder peeling off his trousers. There's not an ounce of privacy in the decontamination area, and no time to worry about it either. We have to go through the procedure together. 

I am not by nature an excessively modest person, but it is rather disconcerting to strip down to nothing in front of a bunch of strangers who are covered from head to toe in decontamination suits, gloves, and masks. Not an inch of their skin is showing while I'm displayed in all my glory. The blistering pain, however, kills dead any speck of modesty I have remaining. 

Even more disconcerting than my current state of undress, however, is my awareness of my partner, no doubt equally naked, standing just two feet behind me. I can feel his presence, as I always can, although I can't say that we've ever been in quite this situation before. 

The technician hoses me down with enough water pressure to nearly knock me backwards. I can tell by the ruckus behind me that Mulder is being treated equivalently, the water from the two hoses bouncing off our bodies and onto each other. I try not to think about the fact that there's something distinctly erotic about this whole scenario. 

After the initial rinsing, one technician begins to scrub me with neutralizer while the technician with the hose continues to spray a light flow of water over me. Although my skin still burns from the chemicals which must be scrubbed away, I'm not convinced that the neutralizing is any better. It feels like I'm being sanded, and the harshness rips at my skin leaving a tingling feeling that mixes with the burn in a sensation that is bordering on torture. 

I try to think about something else. Mulder. Standing behind me. Naked. I can't seem to shake the image. Of course, I've seen him naked before, but those were in times of emergency and I was, obviously, too distracted to pay much attention. I should be distracted now. Acid is eating into my skin, and there are other things to be worried about. I should be concerned about Mulder's condition, how badly he's burned, whether he is in as much pain as I am. But, no, instead all I can think about is just how naked he is. My timing has never been very good. 

The situation is not helped when the technician brushing my stomach suddenly intensifies her strokes and I momentary lose my balance from the change in rhythm. I'm forced to step back to regain my equilibrium and in doing so I graze against Mulder. It is just a fleeting collision, stopped almost before it can register, for I quickly step forward again. My heart rate picks up and my skin tingles from where I came into contact with him. I'm honestly not sure how long I'll be able to stand this. 

It takes several minutes for the technician to scrub every part of my front side, the close scrutiny gradually becoming more and more uncomfortable. Then, she makes a little circular motion with her finger to signal me to turn around. So I do. 

I come face to face with Mulder's back, which stretches before me, tanned and smooth, like expensive leather. The broad expanse of muscles rests over his frame perfectly. I want to reach out and touch him, to touch the places where the water beads across his skin, but, of course, that's out of the question. So I find something else to do. I check out his ass. It's right there in front of me. How can I not look? 

I must say Mulder has a fine ass. It's one of those perfectly rounded ones that you rarely see. The skin looks silky and soft, and I'm fascinated by the way the water flows over his buttocks like a waterfall, cascading to the floor. I have a strong temptation to reach out and touch the small dimple on the right side, to run my finger over its smooth indentation. I have a momentary flash of digging my fingernails into his ass as he thrusts into me, but I shake that as quickly as possible. I'm very aware that we are far from being alone, and this is not the time to be playing with fantasies. 

I'm too involved in studying Mulder's anatomy to notice his technician signaling him to turn. He reels around so quickly that I barely have time to shoot my gaze up so that it meets his face and not his groin. His eyes latch onto mine in surprise at our current position, but he does not look away. A slight grin plays about the corners of his mouth. Nobody in the room seems to realize how incredibly awkward this could be. The technicians keep scrubbing away like it's no big deal that two naked partners of the opposite sex are standing face to face. 

We look at each other, neither of us willing to break the eye contact. Neither of us turns away either, for that matter. I see the challenge in his eyes, reinforced by a quick lifting of his brows. The message is clear. Which one of us is going to be the first to give in and look down? A range of emotions crosses his face, teasing, flirting, challenging. Despite my promise to myself that I won't be the first to give in, I seem unable to stop my eyes as they make a quick excursion. I study his mouth, then his chin, reveling in their familiarity; I know them as well as I know my own name. Then I pay close attention to the way his neck arches in just that way, a way to which I've become accustomed over the years, his neck being one part of him that I can study regularly without being excessively obvious. I slowly journey down his shoulder to just the upper part of his chest, where the water beads over him like diamonds, his skin pink from the scrubbing he has just received. It is a quick pilgrimage, then I return to his eyes. Just a tease, nothing more. Nothing questionable about it. Totally professional. Mostly. 

When I meet Mulder's eyes again, he is laughing at me. Not out loud, but I can read him. He dares me with his eyes. He dares me to look, to travel past my present mark. To go all the way. His eyes tell me to take a chance. I hesitate a moment, just to make him wonder, and then I accept the dare. The technician is scrubbing my back, having finished with my shoulders and arms, meticulously working her way down my body. There isn't time to waste. I've got a deadline. 

I allow my eyes to wander freely over Mulder's chest, over the expanse of water flowing across skin. It is mesmerizing, this cascade. The water falls in rivulets over his muscles, gluing the tufts of hair to his chest, creating a mosaic of dark and reddened skin like some vision of modern art. The movement of the technicians behind Mulder, which I see only out of the corner of my eye, reminds me where I am, but I'm unable to tear my gaze from the view in front of me. I trace over his curves and muscles, wondering what it would be like to touch him, wondering what he would do if I did. I want to lean forward and take onto my tongue the quivering drop of water that hovers on the bottom curve of his breast; it struggles between clinging to the beauty of him and the inevitable gravity that pulls it toward the floor. 

I watch as the drop finally lets go and swims down Mulder's torso in a rambling path. I follow it to his abdomen, unbelievably toned and tight, as I have always remembered from the few times I have seen him shirtless. It is an image that has played in my mind for as long as I have known him, this beautiful torso that sings to me a serenade of skin and heat and silky smoothness. 

I see Mulder draw in a deep breath, his chest expanding with it. I feel his stare on my face, and I know that his eyes haven't moved. He is watching me look at him. I hope he isn't uncomfortable with my thorough scrutiny. There's no way I'm going to stop. Not now, not until I have gone all the way. 

I meander down his belly to the top of the dark thatch of hair. I am just barely conscious of the pain radiating throughout my body as the stinging substances are scrubbed from my surface. The burning has been replaced by something else that smolders inside me and makes me feel heated under the water that seems cold as it pours across my aching skin. 

To be honest, I've always found penises humorous, particularly when flaccid. I mean, I never really understood the attraction of photographs of random penises on random men. After all, it's the man it's attached to that really matters. Soft and unaroused, a penis is really rather silly, just a slab of flesh hanging between the legs, like some sort of leftover from a blunder of evolution. Ridiculous looking, despite its functionality. 

At this particular moment, however, I find nothing at all ridiculous. I study Mulder's cock carefully, like an artist, its smoothness and bumps, the way it hangs just perfectly. I wish I was an artist so I could sculpt him or paint him or do something to preserve his beauty for all eternity. I have never seen any man so beautifully designed, so perfectly exquisite. His cock and the tight muscles of his upper thighs and the angle of his hipbones all glide together in some kind of sonata of wondrous masculinity. The stroking of the water streaming over him only magnifies my need to touch him and to memorize the splendor of his form with my hands. Heat blazes between my legs despite my efforts to fight it and despite the many eyes that I know are watching us. 

I'm surprised when Mulder's cock stirs slightly under my gaze. I clench my fists tightly to squelch the desire to reach out and touch it, to run my fingers over its curves and ridges so I can know the feel of what I see before me. I long to make it rise under my hands and beg for me. I want to taste it, to have it full in my mouth, to feel it hard inside me, all of me, every part of me. I cannot believe how much I want it. How much my mouth craves him. I'm aware that I am biting my lip, hard, and I know that Mulder sees it, that he is watching me look at him, but I don't care. I shiver with the thought of taking Mulder into me, and if not for the constant tremors of pain that hover about my consciousness, I think I would break into a fit of weeping for the sheer desire that swallows me. 

I sense Mulder's breath quickening, although the noise of the water pouring from the hoses could not possibly allow me to hear it. Goosebumps rise across his flesh and he shivers, while I am burning up. I do not want to embarrass him, so I cease my visual kiss. I take a quick journey down his lanky legs, strong and beautiful and no doubt incredible to have entwined with one's own. I slowly raise my gaze to meet his face again. I see something in his eyes, something I have never seen before. An entire lexicon of emotions rumbles across his face and reaches across to me, balancing on the water droplets that cavort around us. 

Then his eyes drop, slowly dancing over my neck, my shoulders. I watch as his eyes move, then pause, then move again, then pause. I know that he is kissing me, that each time he hesitates he is imagining planting a kiss in that spot, tenderly and gently. I can actually feel it. I am surprised when he stops his excursion just above my breasts and his gaze meets mine again. 

I've long been aware that I can't measure up to the women of Mulder's fantasies, to the anonymous women in his films and magazines. I see in his eyes that, at this moment, it doesn't make a single bit of difference. What I see is desire, just the flicker of it, nothing that anyone else would notice. But I see it and know it, and this time it isn't my imagination playing tricks on me. 

Mulder holds my gaze, waiting, as if asking my permission before delving lower. With a stifled smile, I grant it, and I must remind myself again that we are being watched. I can't let it show. 

All the way down, I feel his touch, his lips on me. His eyes float over my breasts and I know with an arousing certainty how his hands would feel there, stroking and touching me, as his eyes move across my seared skin. The heat of my chemical-burns becomes indistinguishable from how I know his mouth on me would feel. It is the most incredible sensation I have ever experienced. I am here, in a sterile room, being hosed down and scrubbed over every part of my body which is burning with chemicals, and all I can feel are Mulder's soft imaginary kisses landing over my breasts, my ribs, my belly. 

All the way down. He takes his own sweet time, which pleases me with its implications. I know now exactly how he would be, how excruciatingly slowly he would love me. All memory of awkward and selfish lovers from the past is washed away and replaced by this single moment of furious intensity. The feeling of my skin being rubbed raw, the harsh brush scraping the smooth skin of my lower back and buttocks, contrasts markedly to the delicate way in which Mulder's scrutiny caresses me, languidly, as if we have all the time in the world. 

I keep my eyes trained on Mulder's face, watching his every expression, just as he watched me as I explored him. His eyes linger over every part of me. My consciousness is refocused on the scrubbing which has now moved to the back of my thighs, then to my knees. We are running out of time. Hurry, Mulder. My pulse speeds up with the excitement, the anticipation. The flurry of feelings and stimuli nearly drive me insane. I can barely stop myself from spurring him on. Now, Mulder. For God's sake, do it now! 

I am more than aware when Mulder's eyes meet their goal--I see the exhalation of the breath he's been holding and the struggle to maintain his composure indicated by his clenched fists. It's the same thing I've just experienced, only this time I am on the receiving end and the knowledge of what I do to him erupts inside of me. His eyes drift over that part of me that I have kept hidden for so long, that I have kept to myself out of fear of losing myself in just this way. Mulder seems blissfully unaware of the presence of those around us; they are equally unaware of us, of our waltz of imagination, danced to the tune of falling water. 

As the scrubbing moves down to my ankles, Mulder tears his gaze away and looks me in the eye. What I see there confirms what I have just felt. In our own peculiar way, in this extremely peculiar relationship of ours, we have just made love, in front of a half dozen decontamination technicians and God knows who else, none of whom have a clue about what has raged between us without so much as a single physical touch. Extreme possibilities indeed. 

Mulder smiles at me in a way that makes me blush for some totally inexplicable reason. It is the first time during this whole standing-naked-and-aroused-in-front-of-a-room-full-of-strangers scenario that I have felt embarrassed. From somewhere that seems far away, I hear someone talking. With a start, I realize the technician is speaking to me. 

"Agent Scully? I'm finished here. You can go ahead into the examining room." I turn and look at the masked woman and flash a smile as an apology for not hearing whatever it was she said before my attention was drawn away from Mulder. "Sorry about this," she mumbles, seeming to just now realize that I've been standing in front of my partner stark naked for the last ten minutes. Not that I minded, as it turns out. 

I step out of the decontamination area and into a large smock that is offered to me, though it seems a bit late for privacy now. I immediately feel a sense of loss, like I have been abandoned. A shiver runs through me although my flesh still aches with the burns and my insides are ablaze with Mulder. I do not turn back to look at him because I suspect that if I do, I will never be able to walk away from him again. 

************ 

A half hour later, I leave the examining room to find Mulder waiting for me on the bench outside. He is dressed in scrubs that match my own, our clothes having been destroyed to prevent further contamination. 

"Everything okay?" he asks, tilting his head at me in concern. 

"Yes. They treated a few of the burns, but none of them seem serious," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. 

"Same here," he says, gingerly getting up from the bench and standing in front of me, "but it hurts like hell, doesn't it?" 

The scrubs hang on him loosely, covering his form. I know what lies underneath. Every curve and muscle and mark I have mapped out in my head and committed to memory, like an explorer who fears getting lost forever in endless wilderness. I wouldn't mind losing myself in those hills and rivers and forests. I know the places I want to touch--the broad chest, the solid arms, the slight rise of his belly. I know exactly where I want to run my tongue--along the velvety smooth skin of his lower back, the ripple along his abdominal muscles, and mostly the part of him that began to spring to life under my simple gaze. I can identify every curve and rise of his body that I now want to touch and taste in the same way I have seen them--slowly, gently, one part at a time, until I have covered all of him with all of me. 

"The doctor said we were lucky." Mulder's words call me back to reality. My skin pounds with the burns and the scrubbing it has suffered, the ache exacerbated with every brush of my clothing against me. "He said it could have been worse, if we hadn't been treated so quickly." 

When I look back up at Mulder, he is smiling gently and looking at me in that way that I have just begun to understand. We are thinking the same thing. Of that I am sure. It is only a matter of time. 

END ____________ 

Feedback always appreciated: sbarringer@usa.net 

All my fanfic is available at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442 


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